Little Talks
by Shortstakk7932
Summary: Layla from America gets into some crazy danger, runs to London, buys a 'Victorian Charmer', eventually will meet Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson (among others). Bear with me, it will be another strange story...think along the lines of 'Lake House'...the way there's a time travel aspect. *M* rating to stay safe.
1. Chapter 1

**Little Talks Chapter 1: Prologue:**

Walking around the ancient sitting room in the Victorian pile that she had just purchased, Layla looked around the room in a cursory fashion. Everything was covered with drop cloths yellowing with age and more than a few cobwebs; a stout layer of dust covered everything else. Even from the outside, you could tell the place hadn't been used in years.

Her eyes falling on a lump of sheets that looked suspiciously like a chair, Layla walked over and pulled the sheet off carefully. She uncovered the most darling old Victorian chair it looked as though it had at one time been a man's chair, judging by the lines and the upholstery. Continuing to remove the sheet a bit farther, she found a small side table with a small drawer on the front. She sat down and opened the drawer. Looking inside she quickly found an old leather bound book of some sort. Flipping through it, Layla discovered that this seemed to be a personal journal. She flipped through the first few pages. She knew she shouldn't; this was someone else's personal thoughts and ideas….but in her defense, they were long gone by now.

Apparently, the author of the journal was a man named John H. Watson. It seemed as though he had been a doctor and a soldier. Oona smiled as she read the first entry. Dr. Watson was quite an imaginative fellow. She loved reading some of the entries, especially one of the earliest ones from 1881 when Dr. Watson described some of his earliest encounters with Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

Layla began getting tired just an hour or so into her reading; it had been a long day….in truth, it had been a long few weeks. Flipping towards the back of the journal to see what she could find, she found a few blank pages. She grabbed an ink pen from her bag. She knew this was insane and that it wouldn't work.

Breathing deeply, she began to write on one of the blank pages. Starting with the current date, she told the author that she was glad to meet him. There was some general small talk. In closing she thought about the fact that he was a doctor and a soldier in life.

"….And Dr. Watson, I don't know if this will work. But if it does….if you could possibly see a way to do it…..would it be too much to ask for you and your friend, Mr. Holmes, too watch over me. I have no one else….no friends or family….I need someone to watch over me frankly.

Odds are, this won't work in a million years; but I am desperate. I am running for my life and honestly I have nowhere to turn. I have to try. No matter what…Thank you. Thank you if you can help me. And thank you, even if you can't, for leaving your journal here for me to see….."

With that she closed the journal and walked over to the sofa and pulled a blanket out of her bag and curled up on the sofa falling asleep quickly.


	2. Little Talks Chapter 2

**Meeting Mycroft**

The next morning, Layla woke up and changed clothes; she only put on a pair of track pants and a t-shirt with some tennis shoes. Out of one of her suit cases she unrolled a small gym bag that she kept; into that she placed a fresh change of decent clothes and some toiletries. Grabbing her wallet she took a cab back over to her apartment that she was still technically under lease for.

She needed to use the restroom and grab a shower….making a quick breakfast wouldn't go amiss either. She had to think about what her next plan of action would be. She knew she needed to get the place checked by an exterminator to be on the safe side. The electrical and plumbing (or lack thereof depending on how you look at it) would need to be seen to. Layla wanted to remodel the place a little bit. She didn't want to take away the Victorian charm of the home, nor did she want to ruin the feel of London itself that oozed from the walls; those were things she had fallen in love with as soon as she entered through the front door. But there were a few changes that would have to take place to bring her new place up to current standards of habitation. Hopefully, the past residents wouldn't mind too much.

It sort of made her smile as she sat eating her breakfast to think of how much she really missed being at 221 Baker Street. As soon as she walked in the door she felt like it was home….if you could overlook the dust and cobwebs, etc. Being there just felt….right.

Layla had never really had a home to speak of. She was orphaned as a small child and grew up in the foster care system in America. She had stayed with some nice families during her time….Some…nice families. They weren't always nice though. There were some that were actually not very good at all. Layla had learned about the dark side of the foster system, indeed about the dark side of the human race itself growing up that way. And even in the better families she had lived with, nobody ever kept her longer than a year, if that long. It seemed like nobody wanted her.

By the time she turned 18, Layla was on her own. She had no permanent adoptive family that had taken her in; she had aged out of foster care and was sent to find her way in the world.

Luckily she had done well enough in school to receive a scholarship to college and she took that and ran with it. Getting an education in computers and minoring in criminal justice, she was able to find work in the cyber-crimes field. She made good money doing what she did and it was rewarding in its own way, helping to take down all manner of sleazy criminals.

And that is what has led her up to this point. She had somehow or other gotten onto a case that had her going down several rabbit holes. It seemed as if there was a rash of particularly heinous crimes that had taken place. Weirder still, it seemed like they were all connected once you started following the money. At the surface nobody would notice it. A handful of murders, bank robberies, a bombing or two; the list went on. Nobody had caught on because they had not been digging. Apparently, she went too far.

 **~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SH~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

She had received things online; blips on her screen, emails that always led her to believe that she was going to be next. She overlooked them. She shouldn't have.

It was closing in on winter in DC. She had gone to her friend, Flavia's, apartment on their day off. The door was slightly ajar. This wasn't like Flavia. Being single women in the city and working in the cyber-crimes division, they understood how important personal safety was. Taking out one of the leather gloves that she kept in her purse, she used it to allow her to push the door open without leaving her finger prints behind or tampering with any that might have already been in place.

Entering the apartment a little more fully, she saw furniture overturned papers scattered everywhere; Flavia's laptop was destroyed…the screen shattered, parts of the hard drive had been bashed in. Likely, the entire thing was a total loss.

Walking farther still into the apartment, she came to the bedroom. There was so much blood. It looked like the walls had been painted with it. Flavia was lying across the bed. Aside from the fact that this crime scene was indoors and this wasn't the 1940s, it made Layla think of the murder of the Black Dahlia. There was so much blood and parts of Flavia's body lay strewn around the room.

Layla wanted to puke, but she couldn't even go use Flavia's bathroom, it was part of a crime scene.

Quickly she made her way out of the apartment the same way she came in, she was breathing heavily out of total fear. Once outside on the side walk she found what had to be the only pay phone left in the entire city of DC, using her glove again to dial 911. Once connected to the operator she posed as a neighbor to Flavia and began telling her that she thought there had been a murder at the address, she claimed she heard screaming. Once she was sure the authorities were on their way, she slammed the phone down and ran for the subway station nearby.

It was lucky for her that she had taken steps to withdraw quite a bit of money from her various accounts in at least a half dozen different banks around the city. Working the job she had, you learned not to put all of your eggs in one basket.

Once she had arrived home she grabbed the bag of money that she had been stock piling and grabbed a roll of cash, taking off back out into the city.

One of her first stops was at a local wig shop; she bought several of the high end wigs in blonde, brunette, and red hair. Next, she made her way to a couple of stores and bought several hundred dollars' worth of new clothes, including a few pairs of sun glasses, boots, handbags, and scarves to coordinate

Making her way back to her apartment, she kept a close eye on people around her. She kept to the subway, not trusting taxi-drivers. Someone had just murdered her best friend as a message to her; there was no way she was getting stuck in the taxi ride from hell. No, right now she felt safer in a large group. If it was hard for her to see the bad guys, logic dictated to her that it might be hard for them to see her.

Once back in her apartment, she showered quickly, washing her hair and braiding it out of her way and dressing in some of the brand new clothes, popping tags off of them as she went. She took the time to carefully pack her two largest suitcases, making sure to leave room for her wigs and other smaller items. Going back into her closet she pulled down the kit she kept that had her passport and other important documents. She tossed her passport and wallet into one of the handbags she bought along with a couple of ink pens etc. that would make it all look normal.

As she went she made a mental note of everything to make sure she didn't leave anything of importance around. Luckily she didn't have a lot of photographs or anything that was of personal importance. With no family, she didn't have to worry about anybody that could be harmed in her wake….well not again.

Taking a pair of rubber gloves out of one of her kitchen cabinets, she began to quickly clean the apartment. She scrubbed down the bathtub, bathroom sink, and the fixtures for both before moving on and taking a quick go at the kitchen counters and the sink fixtures there. In her bedroom she stripped the sheets off of the bed, rolling them into a tight ball and tying them shut in several plastic grocery bags; she grabbed most of her clothes and put them into garbage bags. After doing that she ran to the elevator and took that down to the first floor and tossed the garbage bags into the dumpster out back, along with the bag the sheets were in. With that all done she raced back into the building and took the elevator back up to her apartment.

Grabbing her suitcases and her handbag, she looked around the apartment one last time. It had been small, but it had been the closest thing to a real home that she ever had; she hated leaving. Closing the door, she took a chance and flagged down a taxi. It wasn't her first choice, but it was a necessary evil. She told the man to take her to Dulles International Airport.

After getting her there in one piece and actually being quite a charming older gentleman, Layla paid him four times what the trip was worth and told him to have a great holiday in case she didn't see him again. He graciously thanked her and told her that he sure hoped she had a great holiday as well; he couldn't help but notice the bittersweet smile that graced her lips.

Grabbing her two suitcases and racing into the airport like a house on fire, she made it to one of the desks and purchased a ticket for the next flight to London leaving that day. She didn't even have to think about it. She had wanted to go there since she was a child, and, if she had to move again quickly, London was easy enough to get out of. She could go to Paris, Rome, anywhere. London was a wonderful jumping off point if she needed it.

Once she got her baggage checked and was allowed to board she found her seat on the plane. Collapsing into the seat she breathed the first deep breath she had been able to take since finding Flavia's body, barely more than four hours ago.

As she tried calming her nerves she noticed a shadow settle over her row of seats.

"Do you mind if I share a row with you? It seems as if some bloke has taken my seat and I don't really have the energy to start a row over it."

So the man was British, not hard to imagine, considering this was a flight to London after all. And he was handsome, rakishly so. Dark brown eyes, mischievous gleam in them, a rather nice smile, darker hair that had started going slightly gray, leather jacket, slacks. Something about his face made him seem harmless enough.

"Yeah, go ahead. Though I warn you, I don't know if I will be good company."

"Been one of those days then has it? Just can't wrap your brain around it?"

"You have no idea Mr."

"The names Greg. Greg Lestrade." He held out his hand to her.

"Layla. Layla Adler. Nice to meet you Mr. Lestrade." She accepted his hand, giving him a firm yet friendly shake.


	3. Little Talks Chapter 3

**Little Talks Chapter 3**

After snapping out of her little daydream while eating her breakfast, Layla cleaned up her mess and made her way back out into the city of London. She needed to head back over to Baker Street. She wanted to go through some of the other books and things that she had found among the shelves.

After arriving at 221B Baker St, Layla noticed a man standing on the front steps. Getting her switchblade out of her pocket she took in the man's appearance. Expensive three piece suit, carefully manicured nails, perfectly clipped hair, stern features, sharp nose, and hawk-like eyes. After what she saw the other week, back at her friend Flavia's apartment she wasn't taking any chances; she kept her switchblade hidden, tucked into the bottom of her jacket sleeve.

"Can I help you Mr…..?" Layla asked wearily of the stranger.

"Mycroft Holmes, former owner of this building."

"OK. Mr. Holmes. How can I help you?"

"You can start by putting away your knife. You won't need that."

"How about I hold onto it until I know what you're after."

"Very well; although I must warn you….even if you were to try to attack me, that man back there at the car would be capable of killing you in less than fifteen seconds."

"That doesn't exactly restore my comfort levels. What can I do for you?"

"I think we should go inside and talk." He noticed the way she looked around carefully; it wasn't totally lost on him how she had been studying him since she first saw him.

"Miss Adler, I know who you are, I know where you are from. I also know that you are currently living in London after the murder of your friend. I want to speak to you."

Layla backed away slowly. "What do you know about Flavia's murder?"

"I know that it was a message for you. You had overlooked the warnings that were sent to your email address among others. This was the next step…."

"Do you work for them?" She was starting to breathe heavily and feel a bit nauseous, like that day when she found her friend's body.

"Definitely not; I hold a minor position in the government…."

"It doesn't matter. They've paid people off before….." She was feeling faint and seeing spots before her eyes; she grabbed onto the lamp post to try to keep herself upright. That is the last thing she remembered before she blacked out.

 **~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SH~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Layla came too in the sitting room of 221B, she was reclined on the sofa; without sitting up much she looked around to try to get her bearings.

"Oh good, you're awake."

Sitting up now, she rubbed her forehead, 'What happened?"

"It seems as though you became overwhelmed and you blacked out. Are you feeling better now?"

"Mr. Holmes…."

"I will come straight to it since you seem to believe that I have been sent here to do away with you. This property, 221B, had been in my family for generations. The last couple of generations, we haven't used it, and I am afraid it was left to stand rather derelict. You will need to get the building up to code so far as the electrical and the plumbing are concerned. That much I am sure of. I would like to aid you with that. I would be able to arrange for a crew to come in and see to both issues. And due to your recent problems with safety concerns, I would be able to assure you that the people who do the work would be above reproach. They do a lot of work for our government buildings and due to that they are required to have extensive background checks.

After the plumbing and electrical is taken care of it would only be a matter of you deciding how you would like this old place to be refurbished and I can arrange to have that taken care of as well. You would just have to meet with my contractor and explain what you would like."

"You would do that for me?"

"Yes. You are coming from America. You don't know so very many people in London just yet. It seems as though you have kept close to home except on your morning excursions and your forays down to the café to have a bite of lunch. You haven't even been to a grocer yet, mainly because there is no power in this home yet. But at the flat that you lived in when you first moved to town, you had your groceries delivered so you wouldn't have to make the decision to take a taxi, tube, or bus. You don't trust taxis at this time, because you are afraid that if you are alone inside of one that perhaps the driver has been sent to kill you. But in truth, you don't like the idea of leaving the house much because you are trying to lessen your chances of whoever is after you being able to find you."

"You're quite good at this game Mr. Holmes."

"It is no game madam. It is simple deduction. I have been alerted to your presence in the country. I have contacts in America that were quite impressed with your work. When your friend was found murdered and you disappeared so suddenly, word was sent out that those of us that were able should keep our eyes open in case you entered our….jurisdiction. And I suppose that if I was not of my rank in the government and had people to help me see to my personal safety, I would take many of the same precautions as you have. I must say that without getting terribly high tech, you've done quite well keeping yourself out of harm's way.

But I must ask you…What possessed you to buy a house, especially one that is in such disrepair?"

"When I was a kid I made up my mind that if I ever had the chance I would move to London. I always wanted a home that looked like London threw up all over it….I wanted a home that was so 'London' that it was almost painful. As soon as the real estate agent brought me here, I felt it. I didn't even have to walk inside to know. But I waited until I came inside….We hadn't even made it up the first flight of stairs when I turned to him and told him that I wanted to make an offer. I didn't need to see the rest of it. I didn't care what condition it was in. I wanted this place.

I've never had a real home. I grew up as an orphan. My parents both died while I was still quite young. No foster or adoptive families ever kept me. Nobody wanted me. In America, I had my apartment. It was small…tiny even, a lot like the one I took here. It was just big enough for a bed, a bathroom, a small kitchen, and not much else. But it was all I needed to live. But it wasn't really home.

I had a few friends, but I have never been close with other people, it's something you learn to live with when you grow up in foster care. You don't get attached very easily because it never lasts.

When I saw this place, the bones of it, it was everything I had wanted. I know it will take some work to make it livable again, but I think it will be worth it. I don't want to lose the Victorian charm of the place. I would like to, wherever possible keep the woodwork….it's quite lovely. There are some rooms I would even like to keep the wallpaper or have it recreated if possible. Some of it will have to go just because the pattern is too hideous even for me to find something to love about it….Replacement windows will be needed to help make this place a little more energy efficient. But other than that I love the place as it is. I wanted to buy a piece of London's history when I came here, why would I destroy it now?

And then when I finally came up here and I saw some of the books, furniture, and other things that were left here….my favorite thing is this."

Layla went over to a table by one of the windows and lifted up an instrument case, opening it she revealed a violin that was almost 200 years old.

"I know it is completely out of tune and I don't even know how to play an instrument anyway…but I loved it. I suppose it must have belonged to one of the people who used to live here. The only thing that could possibly come close to topping that is this…" she opened the drawer to the little table, picking up the old journal that had belonged to Dr. John Watson.

"Yes, the journal of Dr. Watson. He was a colleague of my great-great grandfather, Sherlock Holmes, he was an army doctor before he was invalided out…it seems he was shot in the leg. I myself am named after Sherlock's older brother Mycroft. I have a younger brother who is named, at least in part after the Sherlock of old. My family is one of those that has a thing for recycling old family names."

"Oh. What was the old Mr. Holmes, Sherlock I mean….what was he like?"

"He played the violin, poorly most of the time. My brother Sherlock plays quite well actually when the mood suits him, but then his moods are so changeable sometimes. The Victorian Sherlock was a consultant with Scotland Yard. My brother has been known to consult with them on their investigations as well. It seems as if he has followed in our ancestor's path. Right down to the drug addiction. The elder Sherlock preferred a seven percent solution of cocaine. My brother, Sherlock, has been known to do whatever drug he chooses just to prove he's immortal, I assume. My brother is a genius you see, and his mind is a wonderful tool that he uses to help the police. But at times his thoughts can get crowded and he used the drugs to quiet his mind just so he could sleep. He's better now. He hasn't used at all that I am aware of since he met his friend John Watson."

"Oh wow. Another John Watson. What are the odds?"

"Yes, it seems as history is repeating itself. This man, John was an army surgeon. He was invalided home from Afghanistan after being shot through the soldier by an enemy sniper. He does some work in a local clinic to keep up with his medical degree. And, when he's not too busy with that, he races around London with my brother chasing criminals. Although, I must say that the devotion between my brother and his Dr. Watson seems to run a bit deeper than the original model. Our ancestor never could quite give up his cocaine solution. Of course, perhaps the level of crime in the Victorian era versus the crime in today's world might have something to do with that."

"I loved reading this journal, well what I have seen of it so far. It's quite an interesting read. Apparently your ancestor was a handful."

"Yes, and it seems as though my brother has followed completely in his footsteps."

"I wonder what all of these other books are."

"Likely some of them are more journals that belonged to Dr. Watson. Some of them were writings that belonged to the original Sherlock, different notes he made on cases and experiments that he would run on various things that would aid in his crime solving. Some of it is actually quite boring unless you have a head for science or for crime solving. Which, apparently you do…at least for the crime solving."

Layla looked around the room, admiring the shelves upon shelves of the old dusty tomes. There was a sadness in her eyes that Mycroft just could not define.

"Will you be wanting any of these old books back, or the violin? I mean, really they belong to your family anyway, I have no right to them. I bought the house not the…."

"Madam you are free to keep any of them that you would like. My parents are both a bit older and they have no use for them. My brother conducts a lot of his own experiments and such, although I am not certain he wouldn't trouble you to read some of these old journals at some point, especially when he is bored as so frequently happens."

"Tell him that he is free to do so."

"Be careful what you wish for. He is known to break into the homes of his friends and acquaintances at all hours of the day. Ask poor Dr. Hooper in the morgue, he thinks nothing of waking her at 3AM to try to get her to open the morgue up to him to perform another experiment or to give him body parts from corpses that might lead him to a clue on a case. He has a problem with personal space and social cues."

"I don't care. This place is really mostly yours, meaning the both of you, anyway. I'll even give him a key to keep him from having to pick the locks, once I have one made for him that is."

"Madam…'

"You may call me Layla if you like."

"Layla, I couldn't help but notice that your last name was Adler."

"Yes, what of it?"

"I didn't know if you knew how you came by the name."

"It's just my last name; it's the one that my parents gave me."

"I only mentioned it because back in the lifetime of my ancestor, Sherlock, he was in love with a woman named Irene Adler. Ordinarily he didn't give in to his inclinations towards women, he considered the work he did more important than relationships, his friendship with Dr. Watson notwithstanding. But, this lady was quite attractive, and she had the added benefit of being quite intelligent in her own right. That was a commodity that wasn't usually admired in women in those days; they were supposed to just sit there and raise the family and defer to their husbands to make serious decisions. Irene was totally different; a breath of fresh air in Sherlock's world I think. They were only together, in the physical sense, a few times. I could probably count on one hand how many times they were intimately involved. But from what I am to understand she eventually had a child, reportedly Sherlock was the father. Soon after she gave him the news she disappeared and Sherlock could never find her again.

Years later, after Sherlock retired from his work, he took a wife. She was some years younger than Sherlock. They had several children, possibly five, I think. It is from this marriage that my brother and I are descended.

In case you were wondering, the old Dr. Watson married a lovely woman named Mary, she had been a nurse. As it turns out she had cared for him briefly when he was wounded during the wars back then."

Mycroft walked over to one of the cases that lined the walls and opened a drawer. He produced a double frame.

"On the left is a picture of the elder Sherlock and his wife, Alexandra; on the right is photograph of Dr. and Mary Watson."

"Oh, they're lovely."

"Do you think it is at all possible that you could be somehow descended from Irene Adler?"

"I honestly don't know Mr. Holmes. My parents died in a car accident when I was maybe six. I barely knew them, let alone to know enough to ask them a bunch of questions about their families. I just know that I was an only child. I have no family left that I am aware of."

"Would you be open to allowing me to look into these things to help you find out?"

"I don't….If you dig into my life, be careful. I already have one friend that has turned up dead."

"Oh madam, I am ever so much harder to kill. But thank you for the caution anyway."

"Of course. When should I expect your people to come through to do the plumbing and electrical?"

"They should be here tomorrow morning, bright and early. As a matter of fact, while the work is being done would you be amenable to staying at my home? It's quite spacious, I'm rarely there…my work keeps me rather busy and even out of the country at times….You would have free reign over most of the place, and it's quite secure so your safety would be assured."

"I don't know…."

"Come now, it would be ever so much simpler than having to go back and forth to your flat to take care of your basic needs. You wouldn't have to worry about getting out in the public eye and having to deal with public transportation. You would have every need seen to."

"Alright, when you put it like that, perhaps I could manage to stay there a few days anyway. It couldn't hurt I suppose. I wouldn't be troubling you?"

"Hardly. As I said, I am rarely there anyway. When I am it is only for a few hours of sleep and little else. If you want to grab some clothes and come along I can take you with me now as a matter of fact. I have already taken the liberty of sending a message to one of my people to have a suite made ready for you."

"Presumptious?"

"I had hoped that you would see the common sense in the arrangement. I promise you that once the work is completed here at Baker Street you will be allowed to return on your own accord."

"I thought our arrangement would last as long as it would take to get the plumbing and electrical seen to."

"It is. But, if you would like to stay longer, while you wait for all of the work to be completed on the refurbishments around here. It's just an idea. I would also like to suggest a state of the art security alarm. Although, I am sure you won't need it."

"Why is that?"

"I have also taken the liberty of having a security detail attached to you."

"When did you do all of this?"

"While you were unconscious. And also, I have an acquaintance at New Scotland Yard, a detective….well he is really my brother's acquaintance…but we have a working relationship. He keeps an eye on my brother's well-being, along with John, when I cannot. I can ask him to check in on you from time to time."

"Why are you doing this for me?"

"Quite simply, because I can. Since I was alerted to your case and found out that you were, indeed, in London, I took the liberty of having my people look into who might be hunting you. If our intel is correct, and it usually is, you will need all of the assistance you can get. Why shouldn't it be me?"

"Very well. Give me a moment to throw some things together and we can go."

As she left the room she grabbed old Dr. Watson's journal and took it with her to go pack her bag.

Noticing her quick theft, 'You're bringing Dr. Watson's journal?"

"Yes. He was the first real friend I made in this town."

Turning to the blank pages in the back of the journal, she showed Mycroft her writing.

"I asked him to try to watch over me. I told him I needed someone to watch over me. And he sent you. Now, give me ten minutes, I will be right back."

With that Layla dashed off to go up to her room and gather a bag of things that she might need for the next few days at least. She knew that the refurbishment of the home would take more than a few days and she would need to come back and get more things….at least she figured she would. Packing some of her favorite pieces of the new clothes she had bought before leaving America, she placed Dr. John H. Watson's journal on top of her thing; she would never dream of leaving it behind. Looking around she saw an old pipe sitting on a shelf. She recognized it from the picture of Sherlock and Alexandra Holmes. Grabbing Mr. Holmes' old pipe she stuck it carefully into the suitcase beside the journal.

Picking up the journal, she kissed the cover and sent a nearly silent 'thank you' to the universe before replacing it among her things and zipping the suitcase shut.

Grabbing her bag she made her way down to the sitting room where she had left Mycroft waiting. As he ushered her to the waiting car, he locked up the front door for her as the driver helped her load her suitcase into the car. As she turned to look back at the window to the sitting room, just before ducking into the car, Layla would swear on a stack of bibles that she saw the sharp, hawk-like features of one Sherlock Holmes and the much kinder, gentler visage of Dr. John H. Watson watching her departure.


	4. Little Talks Chapter 4

Layla had been quiet for a majority of the ride to Mycroft's home. She was thinking over what she had witnessed while getting into the car; that and trying to wrap her brain around how closely linked the past and the present seemed to be. What Mycroft had asked her about her last name played over in her mind as well. She had barely had time to get to know her parents. She only had a dozen or so pictures of them. She had no idea where the last name came from, no clue about family connections at all.

She must have zoned pretty far out because the next thing that she knew, Mycroft was tapping her on the shoulder carefully and letting her know they had arrived.

"You weren't lying when you said this place was spacious." Mycroft smiled at Layla's statement of fact.

"Yes, it's another family home."

"How many homes can one family have?"

"Well, my parents currently live in a small cottage out in the country, a little place close to the river. After retiring from their work, they longed for peace and quiet."

"What did they do, in their careers I mean?"

"I think you would like them both. My mother is a genius in the world of mathematics; she worked for Oxford University for quite a number of years. To hear her tell it, she gave it all up to raise her family. My father…I think he would be your favorite of the two….Father tries to behave as though he's just a harmless old man. He used to hold a position in the British government as I do now. He was even a member of the national intelligence community for a time. He is smarter than people think. I suppose his ability to behave as the 'common man' helped him in his career. You will fall in love with them; everyone who meets them does."

"Are we going in, there's a slight nip in the air ya know."

"Very well, come along then."

They made their way through the front entrance, into the foyer, Layla looking around in admiration.

"I like this place already. I may never leave. You may have created a monster."

"Ah, but, would you be willing to leave your slice of London behind for this?"

"Hmmmm. You might be right. I would miss it I think. The walls talk there. That place will be telling me stories soon I am sure."

"What stories could the walls possibly tell that the journals don't?"

"I don't know. Maybe what Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson got up to when they weren't chasing criminals around this city. I will have to find out."

"How soon do you think that will happen?"

"What are you going to come down and interrogate the house then?"

"Let me give you a quick tour before I have to return to my duties." Layla turned to make her way to the bottom of the stairs and wait for him. Mycroft meanwhile, looked down at the top of her head smiling, shaking his head. She was going to be a handful.

He led her upstairs, an assistant following behind carrying her suitcase.

"This will be your suite. I hope the room is satisfactory. It has its own facilities."

"Are you kidding? This suite is bigger than the flat that I was renting." She ran into the room and vaulted onto the large bed, spinning head over feet before landing.

"This is so cool. I always wanted a bed like this when I was a kid, with the big canopy, and the posters. As a foster kid you never have anything of your own."

Sitting up she scrambled over to the side of the bed and slid down….it took endless seconds for her feet to touch the floor…once they did she took off like a shot running into the bathroom looking around.

"Mr. Holmes, if you force my hand I think I can make do with the lodgings. It will be a great difficulty I assure you."

Mycroft allowed himself a brief chuckle, he could hear the giggle in Layla's voice as well.

"Very well; come along. I should like to show you the kitchen, the library, and the sitting room. I think they will be the rooms you will frequent the most during your stay. We will need to be quick, I will have to return to my office soon."

"Yes sir, lead on then."

Layla followed him dutifully room to room, taking in all that he said about each one. When they got to the kitchen her eyes lit up again.

"A full chef's kitchen? I have only seen something like this in magazines." She made her way around the kitchen at will looking at all of the professional grade appliances and the excellent quality of craftsmanship in the cabinetry.

"I don't know yet, but I think I love you Mr. Holmes. The only thing that could make this place any better is if it had a secret passage way."

"There are several actually. It is an old home, over the generations it has served a great many purposes."

"You do know that I intend to go exploring later right?"

"I would expect nothing less as a matter of fact. Well, if that will do to satisfy your curiosity for the time being, I must be going now. I will try to be back later on tonight, but don't wait up for me; sometimes it is dreadfully late when I am able to pull myself away from the my duties."

"Fair enough. Thank you Mr. Holmes."

"You can call me Mycroft if you like." He gave her a courteous bow and turned to make his way out of the front door. Layla ran after him, catching up just as he crossed the threshold.

"Mr. Holmes….Mr….Mycroft." Seeing the stern look he gave her.

"Mycroft."

"Yes?"

"Be careful. By helping me you may put yourself in quite a bit of danger. Please, for me, be careful yeah?"


	5. Little Talks Chapter 5

"Police! Open the door."

Layla couldn't move. The person on the other side of the door said they were the police, but…..How had the people that killed Flavia gained entry into her apartment? When Layla was there she didn't notice any signs of forced entry. The door hadn't been busted open; yes, it was ajar, but the door was still intact. Whoever had killed Flavia had used some sort of ruse to get her to open the door.

Upon hearing the young lady scream, Mycroft's butler came running through the house and looked up. Seeing her huddled in the floor of the landing and hearing the police officer outside, he immediately understood. Making his way to the foyer, Higgins keyed in the passcode for the security system and opened the door.

"Inspector, come in quickly."

Rushing in DI Lestrade could make out the sound of what seemed to be sobbing. Looking up the stairs he saw the bundle huddled in the corner.

"Higgins, what happened?"

"I'm not actually sure sir. I just got in myself. I had gone to the shops to get some supplies. As soon as I came in, I heard her scream. I dropped the bags I had in my hands and came running."

Lestrade ran up the few steps to the landing to try to calm the woman down. When he put his hand on her shoulder, she screamed again.

"Ma'am, calm down, I'm DI Lestrade with the MET. I just need to know what happened."

Shaking and still sobbing, the bundle moved, turning to look around at who was speaking to her.

"Le-Lestrade?" She looked at the man a little closer. "I know you…."

"Layla?"

"Sir, you know this young lady?"

"You don't?"

"Well, I know her as much I need to. Master Holmes said her name was Layla Adler and that she is staying with us for a time until some repair work can be done to her home. He said she had just recently purchased the old family property on Baker St. But sir, how do you know her?"

"I don't really. I met her briefly a few weeks ago when I was returning to London from America at the end of my vacation. We sat in the same row. Layla, what happened?"

She could seem to catch her breath, she was gasping for air.

"Come on, let's get you into the sitting room and get you calmed down."

Lestrade had to lift her off of the floor and physically carry her into the sitting room. Once he got her in there he sat her on the sofa. Higgins ran to fix her a glass of scotch.

"Higgins, scotch?"

"Sir, I thought that after the fright she has had that water just wouldn't do."

Layla grabbed the tumbler and slammed it back in one go, leaving the two men to gawk at her.

"What?"

"Layla, would you care to explain what's going on?"

"I bought a property over on Baker Street, an old Victorian pile of bricks. It needs some work. Mr. Holmes was kind enough to allow me to stay here while I wait for the work to be done. What are you doing here?"

"You've left out a lot."

"You haven't answered my question." Layla started to get up carefully moving away from Lestrade, her breathing only marginally better.

"What are you doing here Inspector?"

"I was wrapping up at a crime scene close by and I got a text from Mycroft that someone was in distress here. And I heard you scream."

Lestrade watched her raise shaky hands to her face and rub them up and down over her eyes, trying to pull herself together. She was still trembling rather a lot. She kept looking at the TV like it was the devil himself.

Walking over to Layla, Lestrade stopped her pacing by standing in front of her; he wouldn't let her pass as she kept trying to go around him, he just held out his arms to try to block her even more.

"Don't do this." She backed down, looking around like a caged animal, and suddenly seeming even smaller than she was before.

"Layla, Mycroft Holmes sent me a text, while I was at a crime scene, and told me to get over here….that someone was in distress. I get here and you are huddled on the floor screaming and crying. I want some answers."

Nodding, Layla knew he was right.

"Higgins, I'm sorry if I alarmed you. Can you give me a few minutes with Lestrade?"

"Of course madam; if there is anything I can get for either one of you, do let me know." He made his way out of the room without another word.

"Layla, you're stalling."

"Yes, I know. Please, sit. This may take some time."

As soon as she saw him take a seat, Layla walked over to the window and started talking and pacing even more. She told him about her work in America and that she had been in the cyber-crimes division in the FBI. She went on to tell him about the case she had been working and finding her best friend murdered.

"She wasn't just murdered though. She was slaughtered. It made me think of the Black Dahlia a bit. Parts of her were slung around the room like they were garbage; blood was everywhere in the room. I could smell the death all over the place. Flavia was the only real friend I had. We had grown up in foster care together, even lived in some of the same group homes sometimes. When we first started working together, I was so happy to see her, finally a face I recognized.

You don't know what it's like to be an orphan, to grow up in foster care and know that nobody wants you. She did. We looked out for each other all the time. This time I failed her and she's gone."

"You didn't fail her though."

"How can you say that? I ignored blatant warnings from whatever madman was responsible. I didn't even warn her to be on the look-out, I never dreamed they might come after her. I wish they had come after me instead."

"You don't mean that."

"I do, I really do. I have nobody that will miss me. Nobody. She had a boyfriend. They were gonna have a baby. She was gonna be the best mom in the world. She always said that she was going to give that baby all the love that she had missed growing up. She had showed me the sonogram pictures; she let me watch the DVD the doctor made….I heard that baby's heartbeat; and now they're both gone. And I'm left here. For what?"

"Well, now, I'm your friend and I would miss you terribly." Lestrade saw Layla roll her eyes. "You don't believe me?"

"You'd be the only one." If Lestrade hadn't been watching every move she made, he would have missed the tiny, bittersweet smile that lifted one corner of Layla's lips.

"What happened that led Mycroft to send me such an urgent message?"

"I was sitting here flipping channels on the television, having no luck finding anything that grabbed my attention. I was about to turn it off when the screen flickered and went a bit fuzzy. When the picture came back there was a man that was sitting, covered over mostly in shadow so I couldn't make out any features. But I do know that he had a voice that would freeze the blood in your veins.

It was the man responsible for Flavia's death. He told me that I was sadly mistaken if I thought that having an ally like Mycroft Holmes would save my life. And he told me that since Mycroft had bothered to get in the middle of his business that Mycroft was now in danger from him as well.

I was going to run up the stairs and grab my suitcase and get out of here when I heard you knock on the door. After what I had just witnessed…I don't want anybody to die the way Flavia did. Mycroft can't be made to suffer because of me. I can't..."

Lestrade walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her while she proceeded to sob her eyes out.

In the kitchen, Higgins sent a text to Mycroft letting him know that, for now, things were back under control. After pressing send he set about starting an early dinner.

 **~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SH~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Across town, a body was washing up on the bank of the Thames; it was young, female, petite, brunette, and no older than maybe 40. She wouldn't be found for hours and she was missing her extremities.


	6. Little Talks Chapter 6

As soon as Layla started to calm down a bit, Lestrade pulled back a bit to look at her.

"I will be posting a few of my own men on this place…"

"But doesn't Mycroft have his own security team?"

"A little extra protection never hurts. Besides, it will make me feel loads better."

"Well then…"

Lestrade called his next in command.

"Yeah, Donovan, I would like to have two cars sent over to this address…" he gave her the address, 'I want at least two cars here around the clock until further notice."

"Boss, isn't that the freak's brother's house?"

"That freak's name is Sherlock, and yes."

"What does the British government need with some uniforms sitting outside his house for?"

"HE doesn't. But he has a house guest that could do with some added security. Just make the arrangements yeah."

"Fine." With that Lestrade ended the call before Sgt. Sally Donovan could ask any more questions or say anything else that might be unprofessional.

"Alright, that minor miracle is in place. There will be two police cars sitting on this place around the clock at least for the next few days, longer if we see that there is a need for it. I don't want you to leave this house alone. Matter of fact you are to go nowhere without myself or someone of Mycroft's appointment at all, is that understood."

"Really! What if I need to go to the shops?"

"Higgins is here nearly around the clock. Mycroft pays him quite well. I'm sure if you asked him politely he would be more than happy to get what you might need. But that does not mean send him out on some fool's errand just to get him out of the way."

"Oh. My. God. I'm a grown woman for crying out loud….."

"You're a grown woman with a psycho that's trying to kill her."

Layla just looked at him and backed away looking like, all of the sudden he was a total stranger to her.

"Aw, don't be like that."

"Just trading one prison for another I suppose. Wait, what about if one of your own officers were to escort me somewhere? At least my room here is as big as the flat I have been renting. You should see it….I mean…" She had the sense to look embarrassed, looking down towards the floor. "And it does have running water and electrical. So I suppose I could do worse." She looked like she was ticking ideas off on her fingers as she went down the list, still not really looking at him, not since that crack about seeing her room.

"But what if I want to go see a movie?"

"Wait until I'm off duty and call me. Ordinarily, I would say that having an officer escort you would be a nice solution, but until Mycroft or myself finds out who is behind this, I would like to limit your interaction with the outside world."

"What if it is in the middle of the day, say just after lunch?"

"Call me. I will have Sgt. Donovan take over for a couple of hours."

"You can't leave your duties during your…duty."

"I can say that I am filling in on your security detail. She won't say a word if she knows what's good for her."

"What if…."

"There. Now you can call me 24/7, no matter what." Lestrade had, in the meantime, grabbed her Mycroft issued cell phone and programmed his cell number in there.

Layla just looked at him blinking, like she couldn't believe that he just gave her his number. She bit her lips together as if she was trying to keep herself from saying something she'd be embarrassed over almost immediately.

"Alright. Do you have the passcode for the security alarm here or do you need to get with Mycroft about that?"

"I have it if I need it."

Receiving a text as he finished his thought, Lestrade looked at his phone quickly.

"As a matter of fact, that is his majesty now."

"So what does he want?"

"He was informing me that I had better go home and collect a bag with some clothes and things. Looks like I will be spending the night here for a few nights while he is out of the country on some emergency business. He says he will still have some of his people posted here around the clock as well as the police officers that I will have in place.

So, it looks as though I will be back in a couple of hours. I need to go past the office and see to some paperwork and grab a bag from the house and I will be back. Do you think you'll be alright here until then with Higgins?"

"I have to be, don't I?"

"Would you rather come with me, just to get out for a bit? It will be boring waiting for me at the yard, but at least you'd get some fresh air before you're shut in for the night. I'd say we can pick up some take-away, but Higgins might skin us after he goes through all the trouble of fixing dinner."

Higgins made his way back into the room, 'Hardly Inspector. Master Holmes just called me and told me that you would likely take Miss Adler along and not to expect to have you for dinner. I simply put the things I had prepared in the refrigerator; they will keep for tomorrow." He bowed slightly.

"You're sure it's no trouble?" Layla looked at the man with some hesitation.

"Quite alright madam; I am used to Master Holmes' schedule being ever changing. I'm quite adaptable."

"Feel better? Now we can grab take-away before we come back here. Think about what you might want. Now, go grab a coat. You're not ready for London in the fall."

Lestrade waited as she ran upstairs and grabbed her little red tweed pea coat; it was flared at the hip a bit, and accentuated her shape, and it had a flared hood. Around her neck she was winding a scarf around her neck that made him think of Molly's scarf as far as the size of it, but the color was a stunning electric blue color that was in sharp contrast to the coat she wore. She ran her hands under her hair and pulled a good bit of it from under the scarf, some of the more stubborn bits stayed underneath it though.

"So, you said take-away right? Are there any good Indian places nearby here? I feel like I could murder some right about now."

"Indian it will be then. I will get you some fish and chips for the moment, that will keep you while I'm at the station, and then after, when we're on the way over to my place to get my things, we can put in the order for the Indian food."

"Ooh! Do they still wrap the fish and chips in newspaper?"

"You're such a tourist."

"Shut up and feed me or you'll have to put me in a cell. I'm starving."

Higgins shook his head snickering as DI Lestrade and Miss Adler made their way out of the house, he considered himself lucky that he wouldn't have to be in charge of anything more than just seeing to her needs at the house. She seemed like she might be a challenge otherwise.

 **~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SH~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Twenty-five minutes later Lestrade parked up at the station, Layla grabbing the bag with the fish and chips in it.

"Can't you wait until we get to my office?"

"Are you serious? I can smell the vinegar through the bag. I think I could eat my portion and yours." She managed to snatch one of the chips out and pop it into her mouth before Lestrade could grab it from her.

She sat back in her seat and gave a happy little sigh, talking to herself, 'Welcome to London Layla."

Lestrade shook his head and laughed, 'Come on girl let's get inside before you catch a chill. And I'll carry the bag of food, thank you very much."

Walking through the bull pen, Lestrade saw the odd looks he was getting from his colleagues; apparently so did Layla.

"Why are they looking at us funny?"

"They probably think you're a suspect or a witness. Don't worry, they don't bite. Much. Except for Sally…and Anderson maybe. Come on this way."

Layla followed him onto his office, sitting in the chair that he had scooted closer to his desk so she could sit her food down and start eating.

"What did you mean by 'Welcome to London'? I thought you'd been here for a couple of months now."

"Yeah. But ever since I was a kid and wanting to come here, part of the whole experience as far as I was concerned was the fish and chips. Well, that, and tall guys with accents." Layla shrugged sheepishly with a coy smile directed at Lestrade.

Returning her smile, Lestrade opened his desk drawer to pull out a file and start on some paperwork, 'What did your parents have to say about you coming to London alone?"

"Nothing. They died when I was a little girl. From the age of six I grew up in the foster care system. I was never permanently adopted, so I aged out. Nobody wanted me, well, not for long anyway. I was homeless for a bit, after aging out. I moved around a bit."

"How did you make the money to move around?"

"You don't want to know." She looked at him slowly over her food wrappings before going back to nibbling and talking.

"I eventually found myself living in Washington D.C. I found a job at this little diner. It wasn't much, but at least I wasn't going hungry. And I could finally afford a tiny little apartment….it was almost comparable to a bedsit really. But I didn't care. I was free. I didn't have to keep my clothes in trash bags anymore. I didn't have to sleep with all of my clothes on at night, worried that someone would come in the middle of the night and steal them otherwise. I didn't have to worry about someone coming in for any reason. It was my own place."

"Didn't you have any family at all?"

"I think I remember some aunts and uncles. I don't really remember much about them; just a couple of family gatherings during the holidays or whatever. When mom and dad died I was taken back to the house and allowed to take some of my clothes and a few other things and that was it. I was shuffled into the foster care system after that. I don't even remember much about the house or my room. I never heard from them again. It's like I said, nobody wanted me.

For a long time, I wondered why. You know….Why didn't my family care for me. After that it was more about why some of the foster families never kept me. But then…"

There was a knock at Lestrade's office door.

"Come in."

"Boss, isn't it bad enough we have to baby-sit the freak and now this? What's going on?"

"First of all, the 'Freak' has a name. It's Sherlock. Secondly, this is the young lady that will be staying with Mycroft while he helps her get some things sorted."

"She the one that needs the minders when his majesty is away?"

"Sally, could you be a little more unprofessional please?"

Layla cleaned her hands off with a napkin, stood and walked over to this Sally person, and extended her hand in preparation for a handshake.

"Layla Adler. Who might you be?"

"This is Sgt. Donovan, Layla."

"Oh yeah, I heard him on the phone with you, I suppose it was you, earlier today. To answer your question….Yes, I am the one that needs the 'minder' while Mycroft Holmes is attending to his business. I have yet to meet his brother, the one you refer to as a 'freak'. However, I would like to ask you to refrain from addressing the younger Mr. Holmes as such in my presence."

"Or what?"

"Please Sgt. Donovan, do not test my loyalty to the elder Holmes."

"You threatening to kill me?"

"Hardly. Threatening to kill a person is beneath me, especially when I am sure that the person is barely worth a moment of my time to begin with. I am merely stating a fact. I formerly worked for the FBI as a cyber-crimes specialist, and am a world class hacker. I could delete you from every record everywhere. Your birth certificate, POOF! Any and all bank accounts, empty. Your driver's license, gone. You would cease to exist. Without proof of your existence, you would never be able to obtain another job….Please don't force me to give you a demonstration. I've only just met you, I would like to have the time and opportunity to change my opinion of you and see if you have any redeeming qualities.

Inspector Lestrade, I will be needing the ladies room. It will give you a moment to speak with your sergeant in private if needs be. I'll be back soon. Don't touch my chips."

With that Layla swept out of the room, leaving her coat sitting over the back of the chair she had occupied.

"Dear lord, she even talks like Holmes a bit. Where did you really find this one?"

"Donovan!"

"Alright, alright; I know, back to work." He watched as Donovan glared in disdain at Layla as the smaller woman came back from her bathroom break.

"Don't worry about Sally. She looks at Sherlock the same way. Her bark is usually worse than her bite." Lestrade reassured Layla when she had gotten back into his office.

"I'm not worried about her. In case you haven't noticed, I have bigger issues than her right now."

 **~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SH~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Eventually, after Donovan's interruption, things in Lestrade's office calmed down; he got back to his paperwork, and Layla worked on the remainder of her fish and chips.

An hour later, Lestrade was looking at some paperwork and checking out a website that one of the witnesses had mentioned in their statement.

"Bugger!" He slammed his hands down on the desk in frustration.

Layla jumped, nearly choking on some of her chips, 'What's wrong?"

"I'm just having a bit of an issue tracking this website that is listed in this statement."

"Is there a way I can take a look at it? I mean I understand if you're not allowed to do that, because of it being an ongoing case…"

"I probably shouldn't. But without involving Sherlock, this will continue to be an ongoing case at this rate. Here, this is it."

Lestrade showed her the paper that had the website listed on it.

"Oh, I see why. This is 'dark net' stuff. You won't be able to find it the regular way. I would show it to you but…"

"Anything you can offer."

Layla walked over to Lestrade's side of the desk, standing beside where he was seated, leaning over to grab an ink pen to write something down on his desk calendar.

"That's an email address to a friend of mine. When you email him, tell him Annie sent you. He will help you out. He's local to the area around here."

"Why can't you do it? You're right here." Lestrade nearly lost his train of thought when he smelled her shampoo.

"Look. I didn't just move to London on a whim. The last case I worked on in America….I got to close to something. The suspects were sending me warnings. I ignored all of them. My best friend wound up getting butchered to death because of it.

The same day I left her apartment, I went out and bought an entire new wardrobe and wigs…everything I could think of. When I got home, I crammed everything I could into two suitcases and I rearranged my finances as quickly and quietly as possible. Luckily, not long after I had started my work with the FBI I had already managed to have a couple of different savings accounts, including three here in London banks. And I had a small bag of cash that I kept stashed in my apartment….petty cash, ya know for emergencies….like running for your life from international criminals. I had a couple of fake IDs and passports in those identities….sometimes it pays to have friends that are on the other side of the law. That's how I got out of America without being detected….at least it took a lot longer than it would have otherwise.

When you met me on the plane that day all those months ago, that's what was going on. It was the day I discovered my friend, Flavia, dead. I had called the cops, posing as a neighbor…called them from an actual pay-phone no less. Then I took off and never looked back. After my quick packing, I caught a taxi to the airport and caught the earliest flight I could possibly find to London.

I swear I gave you my real name though."

"How could you tell that I wasn't one of the people sent to hunt you down?" He was currently looking Layla directly in the eyes. He didn't even have to look up into her eyes; seated in his desk chair, he was almost entirely eye level with her.

"Those eyes of yours Inspector; they would give you away. You might be mischievous, but I don't think you are a cold blooded killer. I've seen men like that. The gleam in their eyes would send a chill down your spine. The gleam in your eyes does not."

"What does the gleam in my eyes do?"

"What are the public decency laws like here in old London town?" With that Layla backed away from Lestrade carefully, 'Oh, and contact my friend. He might ask you why I've gone radio silent for so long. Tell him nothing. It's not that I don't trust him…I do. But, whoever is hunting me might have eyes and ears on my associates. And going by that logic, if you tell him where I am and why, they might track him down and kill him too. Not only that, but if they have captured him already, it would lead them straight to me. Either way, I'm dead. Just give him something about how you met me through the bureau. I don't know make something up. But, pleas, I'm begging you don't let on that you know anything about what is going on. It's for his safety even more than my own. Just contact him, tell him Annie sent you, and he will help."

"Alright. Whatever you say."

"Thanks." With that, Layla went over and sat down on the sofa that was against one wall of Lestrade's office. Twenty minutes later Lestrade had contacted her associate and asked for his help in regards to the dark net information that he was having trouble locating, letting him know how best to get back in touch. When he looked up from his work, Lestrade saw that Layla had fallen asleep on his couch.

Shaking his head with a smile, Lestrade was just going to let her know that they might as well call it quits for the night, when he received a text alert on his mobile; it was from Donovan. A body had turned up on the banks of the Thames, near Lambeth Bridge. As he finished reading the text, another text alert sounded; Donovan had forwarded a picture message that she received from the officers currently on site. Lestrade couldn't get over the similarities between the victim and the woman currently dozing in his office. He knew regardless of whether or not he took this case he would have to take Layla to the crime scene; Lestrade knew most of his officers and detectives were aces at their jobs, but until Layla's tormentor was caught, he couldn't afford to trust very many people at all.

Walking over to the sofa, Lestrade knelt down, just looking at Layla. He sorely hated the fact that he was going to have to wake her up with the news that a body had been found, the disdain for the task doubled when he thought about the fact that, eventually, she would realize that this case was linked to her own situation; she would know it as soon as she saw any images of the victim, which Lestrade would try to keep from her as much as possible.

He was saved from having to wake her at all when Layla's eyes slowly opened.

"Something's happened hasn't it?" Lestrade could only nod quietly in answer.

"I'm afraid so. I have to go down to the river to supervise the crime scene. Donovan is already on her way down there. Against my better judgement I am taking you with me. With the psycho that is hunting you on the loose I don't want to take more chances than necessary with your safety. Come on. Seems as though you'll get to meet Sherlock after all." Lestrade finished off his statement by sending a text to the detective in question.

"Well then, that's something. I count myself quite lucky today then; bumping into you again, managing to stay alive thus far, and now I get to meet the Sherlock Holmes in the flesh."

"Bumping into me was lucky? How so?"

"Well, for one thing, bumping into you is way better than bumping into my pet psycho."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Besides, now that I have had my fish and chips, the only other thing to scratch off my list, that I'm aware of is a tall British guy. I'm sure you know a few."

"Are you flirting with me?"

"No. I was flirting with you on the plane all those months ago. Besides, you like it. But, we shall have to postpone any dalliance until after we see to this poor soul that has turned up by the river."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself."

"Oh please, if it wasn't for the person hunting me down, you could do worse." Standing she grabbed Lestrade by the lapel of his jacket, 'Come on then, before the imbeciles trample the crime scene."

"Donovan was right, you do have a certain way about you that is quite a lot like Sherlock actually. It borders on downright spooky, so if you don't mind, stop it."

"What's the magic word?"

Lestrade leaned over and whispered something in her ear which caused her to blush straight up to the tops of her ears and tilt her head close to her left shoulder as if she was ticklish.

"Dirty old man,' she could be heard to say on a chuckle as she exited Lestrade's office. Lestrade could only shake his head and smile as he followed her out, all the while wondering what changes the investigation would bring.


	7. Little Talks Chapter 7

Sherlock was on the sofa, drifting through his mind palace, largely ignoring John as he had been for the better part of two hours now. Mary had taken their daughter, Emily to the pediatrician for a standard check-up, and she suggested to John that he should spend a little time with Sherlock after he got out of the clinic.

The day hadn't gone too badly. The clinic had been slow enough that John was able to leave a bit early. He and Sherlock had gone to that chip shop that Sherlock likes and grabbed a quick bite. Then they spent a couple of hours at Bart's while Sherlock checked on some cultures and in general made himself a nuisance for Molly. Now, John was in his chair, tea to the side, milling through the paper, waiting for Sherlock to drop some nugget of wisdom on him. Suddenly, the detective's phone pinged.

Jumping up suddenly and grabbing his coat and scarf, 'That's Lestrade; apparently there's been a murder, come John, quickly."

"Now wait a minute…."

"Murder, John. Do hurry up."

John, of course, had to race to keep up with him then; Sherlock usually only knew the one speed. Once John got to the front stoop of the flat, Sherlock was already flagging a cab.

"So where are we going?"

"The Thames, near Lambeth Bridge, seems as though a body washed up."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. Lestrade was a bit vague about the details. He knows I don't like that. Either he knows more than he's letting on, which I doubt; or he knows absolutely nothing at all, which is the most likely scenario."

"Still pissed that he tossed you out of the last crime scene?"

"Of course. Anderson is a complete moron. I'm surprised we solved that case at all, and as quickly as we did. If it would have been left to Anderson, the unsolved rate would sky rocket."

"Yes, but you have to stop picking fights with the police and play nice. I have told you this all before."

"That's what I have you for."

"Sherlock…"

"We're here."

Sherlock got out, making his way over to Lestrade and the body, leaving John the task of paying the driver.

"He's a bit of a nutter, yeah?"

"You have no idea. But if you think he's impossible, you should meet his brother." John couldn't help but commiserate with the observant driver. The driver drove away after tipping his hat to his former passenger. What John could see was the driver dialing a number as he pulled away, explaining to his listener that the detective was now on the case. His listener was actually quite happy about this. Now that Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson had been brought into the picture, the game would be even more interesting. Hanging up the driver headed a few streets away, dumping the car, and torching it.

John, after paying the driver had hustled over to Sherlock after receiving the warning that he was taking too long to suit him.

"Yes, your majesty is there something I can do for you?"

"There's no reason to get so testy, John."

"I was merely making polite conversation. You should try it sometime."

"Irrelevant."

John just closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and prayed for strength.

"If you ladies are finished, can you maybe….work the case?"

"Woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Gavin?" Sherlock just looked at Greg with an eyebrow arched in challenge.

"The body's over here, well what's left of it at least,' Greg responded with a warning tone. "Unidentified female, 35-40, brown hair."

"John, what do you notice?

"The extremities were severed, cleanly. I wouldn't go so far as to say that the person who did this had a medical background, a basic working knowledge of the human body would suffice."

"Have the limbs been found?"

"We have people searching as we speak. With any luck, they will be found shortly."

John looked closer at the body, 'Because of the way that water tends to treat a body, getting an accurate time of death will be difficult until Molly starts her work, but I would say that this happened somewhere within the last thirty-six hours."

"You sure?"

"Not spot on, but it seems like to me if the body had been at this location for more than a couple of hours it would have been found before now. This girl, whoever she was, would have been dead somewhere between twenty-four and thirty-six hours, dumped in the river at a different location, and then the body floated down this way."

"Nice work John."

"Why thank you, Sherlock."

From the sidelines, Layla had been watching and listening; curiosity was killing her, and since the case likely had something to do with her, she rushed forward to see what she could learn.

"You can't go past the tape." Donovan tried to stop her, but Layla shrugged her off and continued, making her way closer.

Getting closer to Lestrade and the two other men, Layla began to take in everything.

"Layla, I told you to stay behind the tape."

"Lestrade, it's bad enough when Anderson tramples the seen, destroying evidence…."

"Oh, shut up."

Sherlock looked rather taken aback that anybody, anybody besides John that is, would talk back to him in such a way.

"Hello, I'm John Watson, and you're my hero." John said, extending his hand in greeting.

"Nice to meet you sir, I've heard quite a bit about you. And might I say that if this is what he's always like then you deserve a medal."

"Since you seem intent on trampling the crime scene, do you have anything of any substance to add?" Sherlock was getting more perturbed by the minute.

"First of all, this isn't a crime scene. No blood. No footprints, aside from those that the authorities created. Her body parts are nowhere to be found. If this was the actual scene of the crime or even the dump site there would be something here that the killer left behind. She washed up here. So back off, I'm not ruining anything; the river has done that for you already."

Layla walked closer to the body, looking over what was left, kneeling down, stroking the young woman's hair; Lestrade could hear her sniff.

"You can't be serious. We let the freak in and now I guess what, other civilians get a pass as well?"

"Anderson…." Before Lestrade could finish his reprimand, Layla had rushed over and landed a left hook on the man's lower jaw.

"Layla! Come here!" Lestrade grabbed her by the arm. "What were you thinking? He is an officer of the law; under normal circumstances, I would be charging you with assault."

"Then do it. I'll probably be out before you finish filing the paperwork."

"You'd actually play the Mycroft card?"

"If I am forced to."

"How do you know my brother?"

"Since you know everything, why don't you tell me?"

"What is your problem? Your attitude was much better earlier."

"I know this girl. Well, at least I did. I worked with her a couple of times. The name she went by was Brigit…Irish folklore, she was into it. But her name was Moira, I only knew her first name. She was a good girl." With that she turned and started walking away.


	8. Little Talks Chapter 8

**Little Talks Chapter 8**

Layla turned to walk away and Lestrade knew that he saw tear tracks on her cheeks. Sherlock's interest was piqued to say the very least, and John suddenly felt sorry for the woman. Sherlock turned to follow the woman, Lestrade and John following closely behind.

"Sherlock, don't upset her further…."

"How do you know her?"

"I thought you were the great Sherlock Holmes. Did you miss the part where I said that I worked with her?"

"In what capacity?"

"Ask your brother."

"I'm asking you."

"So you are."

Layla kept walking, Sherlock trying to get her to talk to him. Finally, he grabbed her arm to stop her, and had to duck because she swung out at him with her right fist.

"Don't touch me."

"Sherlock, back off."

"She knows more than she's saying." Turning his laser-like glare back on her, 'You're American, a recent transplant to London. Based on the fact that you don't want to be forthcoming with any information about the deceased, I would say that you are in witness protection. You know my brother Mycroft, and have all but admitted it. If you were really in any sort of witness protection scheme you wouldn't have let that little bit slip. So, I'm more inclined to believe that you are being stubborn because you feel as though I have insulted you."

"Sherlock, back off. We can talk about this back at the station."

"What are you hiding?"

"Sherlock, I'm warning you."

"What. Are. You. Hiding?"

"Gun!" John dove knocking Sherlock out of the way and Lestrade made a dive for Layla, cupping a hand around the back of her head to keep it from smacking against the ground entirely. Just as John and Lestrade made contact with their marks, shots rang out. The other officers started ducking. Then there was silence. Donovan looked over to Lestrade to make sure he was alright, he looked at her nodding.

John checked Sherlock over and Sherlock was checking John over. Mary had shot him one time, aiming just a bit off out of kindness; if he got John injured or killed he couldn't be so sure about her reaction.

"You alright?" Lestrade asked Layla. She only nodded her head and whispered a quick 'Yes' to let him know that she was alright. As he helped her stand up though, Lestrade saw where she had been grazed by two of the shots; once in the arm and one had grazed her right temple.

"No you're not, you're bleeding."

As Lestrade pulled her completely to her feet, Layla stumbled, "Sorry, I don't really do well with blood."

"Medic! We'll make them come to you, how about that?" Layla nodded her head with a forlorn look in her eyes; she kept looking back over to where the body was at, watching as it was covered in a tarp. Her forehead wrinkled deeply as she tried to control her emotions. Lestrade helped her sit down on the stretcher that the EMT's brought over. She didn't even seem to flinch when they started dabbing a disinfectant on her wounds to bandage them.

John came closer to help out, the doctor in him taking over where the soldier left off; he could see her hands and bottom lip tremble.

"Are you going to be alright?"

"Doesn't matter. They'll just come for me again."

"We'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen then won't we."

Layla just bowed her head as the medics continued to work, the ground suddenly holding some interest for her. After checking with the medics that she was being well cared for, John walked back over to where Lestrade was chatting with Donovan and Sherlock; well it was more like refereeing.

"Lestrade, what's her story?" John asked innocently enough.

"Boss is her minder while the psycho's brother is occupied." Donovan sort of nodded between Lestrade and Layla as she spoke.

"Thank you Sgt. Donovan, but I wasn't asking you," John replied curtly. "Greg?"

"First let's take this elsewhere. After what just happened I would like to be somewhere a bit safer."

Sherlock just rolled his eyes. "Fine we can go back to…."

"Baker Street. I want to go back to Baker Street." Layla was finally standing, albeit a bit wobbly, holding on to the arm of one of the medics.

"I think we should take you back to Mycroft's."

Layla was not happy with Lestrade's idea; she wanted to get back to Baker Street. Yes, Mycroft's home was better from a safety standpoint. But Baker Street was quickly becoming home to her, and that is where she wanted to be. But she knew Lestrade wouldn't give in; and depending on Mycroft's network, he would already be hearing about what happened, and he would suggest the same thing. So, after considering her options, and finding that she had none, Layla nodded her head in agreement.

Lestrade walked her to his car, somehow she wound up sandwiched between Sherlock and John, and drove them all back to Mycroft's 'humble' abode. On the car ride over there, Layla's eyes kept drooping, she was tired, whatever adrenaline she had was on fumes, but she was getting rather upset because John wouldn't let her sleep.

Upon pulling up at the house, the party of four quickly made their way inside the building, Higgins meeting them in the sitting room with a first aid kit.

"I took the liberty Dr. Watson; I didn't know what you might need."

"Thank you Higgins. It probably wouldn't hurt to change the dressings in a couple of hours. Can we get some tea and maybe a couple of biscuits to help calm her nerves a bit…and to make Sherlock eat something at least?"

"Certainly, I will only be a moment."

Layla kept looking at the TV screen like it was the devil incarnate as she sat on the sofa, about to lie down before John stopped her from doing so.

"Please, I just want to close my eyes for a moment."

"I don't know if that would be the best idea."

"John, she has a bullet wound, not a concussion. Let her at least lie down, yeah." Lestrade was trying.

"Well alright, but I'm watching you. If I think things are getting dicey, I'm shaking you."

Layla agreed and stretched out on the sofa finally, her eyes shutting almost immediately.

But before she could drift very far into any semblance of sleep, 'How do you know about Baker Street?"

Layla heard Sherlock's deep Baritone rumble.

"I bought a property; your brother told me it belonged to your family, but that it had been left rather derelict for ages. Do you recognize the address….221B Baker St?"

"How did you come to know my brother?"

Layla pulled the old journal out of her bag that had since been tossed down beside the sofa.

"It belonged to another Dr. Watson. I found it at the flat.' Her voice was taking on a more drowsy effect, 'I asked the old Dr. Watson to send someone to watch over me. By the next morning your brother was standing on the front stoop waiting for me to come home offering his help."

With that Layla closed her eyes. She was so blasted tired; had been for weeks. If she could just sleep….all she wanted was a few uninterrupted hours of peaceful sleep; she hadn't had that since the day she found Flavia's body in her apartment those couple of months ago.

Higgins came back into the room, setting the tea service as well as two paracetamol down on the coffee table, along with the biscuits that John had requested.

"Thank you, Higgins."

"Not a problem, Dr. Watson. I have food in the kitchen that had been meant for dinner earlier, but under the circumstances, plans were altered. I can whip something up for those of you who would like to eat at this time."

"That might be nice. Thanks."

"Inspector Lestrade, would you care for any? I can also make sure there is enough for the young lady in case she would like to eat when she wakes."

"Yes, please. Thank you."

"But of course. The three of you should make yourselves comfortable. And if I may be so bold…?"

"Yes Higgins?" Sherlock finally broke away from watching Layla sleeping.

"Might I recommend that the three of you all stay here tonight? If the wounds on Miss Adler are any indication, it might be too dangerous to leave just now. At least wait until the morning. Besides, if not for your own safety, having extra eyes and ears for her safety might not go amiss."

John seemed to think this over, 'Yeah. Alright." Then John turned to one of the security cameras posted up in the corner of the ceiling, 'I want my wife and daughter brought under the safety of this house, please, Mycroft." Sherlock snickered at John's technique.

Lestrade grabbed the sports section of the newspaper, beating John to it which earned him a grumble, and grabbed his cup of tea. John made do with the political section; might as well see what hornet's nest Mycroft was stirring up from behind the curtain.

Sherlock had been pacing around the room, deep in thought, when he suddenly broke the silence.

"Wait! Higgins called her Miss Adler."

"Yes, I believe he did." Lestrade was eyeing Sherlock suspiciously.

"Why?"

"That's her last name Sherlock. He was being polite. I know that's a foreign concept but really…"

"Oh shut up Grant."

"And we're back here again."

"Sherlock, why does it matter what her last name is?"

"Something….I have to think."

Mumbling from her place on the sofa, 'Good, then that should keep you quiet for what….an hour? Please shut up, my head is pounding, and if you keep yelling I am pretty sure it will physically split open. And I have a cop with a gun, just there. He'll shoot you if I tell him to." Without even moving, Layla went back to some form of sleep, shutting her eyes ever so carefully against the agony of her head.

"I really will Sherlock." Lestrade muttered as soon as Layla grew quiet again.

Sherlock walked out into the foyer of the home, looking into the corner and carefully enunciating, 'Call. Me. Now. Brother. Mine." And then mere seconds later, his mobile rang.

"Yes, Sherlock, what can I do for you today?"

"The girl you have stashed in your house…."

"What about her? Maybe I wanted my own little gold fish."

"Oh please, that's what you have Graham for."

"Be specific Sherlock. And do make it quick; diplomacy waits for nobody."

"Did you know her name?"

"Layla, yes. Lovely name, you don't hear it so often."

"Don't be an ass…."

"I would never…."

"Her last name, Adler…..Do you think…?"

"I have asked her the very same thing, but she knows nothing of her background, so I have some of my people digging."

"She told you she knows nothing and you believed her?"

"It's genuine. Why don't you ask her?"

"You know very well why."

"Then ask Gregory. I'm sure he knows more than what he's letting on."

"Where are you today?" Sherlock was pinching the bridge of his nose with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand.

"Why should I tell you?"

"So I could come and knock the pompous grin off of your face. I know you have one, it's perennial."

"Goodbye Sherlock."

Walking back into the sitting room, 'Am I really as much of an insufferable ass as Mycroft?"

A chorus of 'YES!' was heard to come from Layla and Lestrade, and John pitched in with 'WORSE'.

"Look, let's go into the kitchen to discuss this a bit yeah. We can still keep an eye on her from there but at least we won't disturb her as much. Come on Sherlock, you want answers and Lestrade won't play nice until you do."

Sherlock sighed, heavily put upon, but ultimately he followed John and Lestrade into the kitchen. As soon as they got past the doorway, he turned on Lestrade.

"What is going on Gavin?"

Lestrade rolled his eyes but began to explain about Layla.

"She's from America, obviously. She was orphaned at the age of 6 or 7, I think, when her parents were both killed in an auto accident of some sort. She spent the rest of her childhood growing up in group homes and foster care. She was apparently never permanently adopted. She knows almost nothing about her family."

"Poor girl,' John's sympathetic nature helped to alleviate Sherlock's abrasiveness. "What brought her to London?"

"She had been working in the cyber-crimes division of the FBI. Apparently she stumbled into a hornet's nest. Whoever was angry at her sent her all sorts of nasty messages in her email or even cryptic messages online in general, most of which she ignored; she thought if she kept working hard enough she could catch them before anything really bad happened.

She was wrong. One day she went to her friend, Flavia's, flat. When she went inside she found her friend had been butchered. She described it as looking a lot like the Black Dahlia crime scene, just indoors.

Layla said as soon as she saw what had happened to her friend, she ran out of the flat and got some emergency cash and her passport, etc. and jumped the first flight to London she could find."

"Yes, but why London?" Sherlock was ever curious.

"She said that, as a little girl, she had always dreamed of living here. So this was the first place she thought of. I met her on the plane that day ironically enough. I wasn't able to think of much else for weeks after. But after that day on the plane, I had no idea where she was or even who she really was. Until her association with Mycroft."

"How did she come by the property at Baker Street?"

"She had been renting some small little bed-sit or something and decided it was time, after several months, to purchase a home. She said that she had never had a real home, and the way things looked, she wouldn't be able to go back to America anytime soon. She said she wanted something that was so painfully London, and that when the real estate agent showed her Baker Street, she demanded that she have it right away. She offered to pay cash.

That's how she came into contact with Mycroft. She said that she was so excited that she spent the night there after moving her suitcases over from her bed-sit. She had to go out the next morning bright and early to go back to her bed-sit and get a shower and to a café to have some breakfast, etc. When she got back to Baker Street, Mycroft was standing on the front steps waiting for her.

Knowing how your brother does things, he probably followed her all over town on his cameras so he would know just exactly when to be back there before her. I think he scared her to death when they first met. She thought the people who were hunting her had sent him and blacked out from panic. Once she learned who he was and that he wasn't sent to kill her, she calmed down and listened to a bit of reason."

"So, then, that body turns up on the river banks, she knows the victim, and she is shot at while at the crime scene in full view of members of NSY. Seems like her hunters have found her."

"John, I don't think they ever lost her. I think they've been biding their time. For what I do not know."

"How did you come to know of her existence here at Mycroft's?"

"I was at a previous crime scene….' Lestrade took a moment to lean back and look through the door into the living room to check on her, 'and I got a text from your brother to get here immediately, that it was an emergency. I get here, Higgins allows me inside, and I found her huddled on the landing of the stair case absolutely terrified. She was screaming and shaking, white as a sheet. Something or someone had scared her bad enough that when I beat on the door, she must have thought they were coming after her here. Mycroft sent me a message shortly before we left here, that I should give some consideration to staying here until further notice and therefore should go home and pack a bag. I took her with me, not letting her out of my sight. We wound up back at the precinct, in my office. I don't know who to trust in London, outside of the two of you and Mycroft. I didn't dare leave her care to anyone on the squad in case whoever is behind this has gotten to them."

Nothing further could be said; Layla was tossing and turning on the sofa. Lestrade went back into the living room and put his hand on her shoulder to try to shake her, to wake her up. Layla sat up like she was on a spring board, part of her hair tumbling down over her face as her momentum stopped.

"NO!" Her breathing was heavy as if she had just got done running a marathon. Immediately she regretted her movement, grabbing her head and falling back over onto the pillow that had been behind her head. Layla rolled her body over to where she was facing the back of the sofa, burying her face against it to help shut out the light.

"What was the nightmare about?" Lestrade asked carefully.

"It was noth…nothing."

"It was something."

Layla took a deep breath, rolling back over to stand up, 'I'm going to my room." She stood up holding her head in one hand and wobbling, a bit unsteady. When Lestrade offered to aid her she indicated that she didn't need the help and carefully made her way to the stairs.

She had to stop at the bottom of the stairs; it was too much of a daunting task, she was light headed.

Leaning, resting her left temple against the wall, she called out for help.

"What's wrong love?"

"Dizzy. So dizzy. There's so many damned stairs."

"Come on. I'll give you an arm then." Layla nodded her agreement; but as they began up the stairs, she wobbled a bit. She laughed a little, it almost sounded like someone that had a couple of pints and was a bit lit.

"Are you putting me on?" Lestrade couldn't help but chuckle.

"It's the headache medicine. I don't like taking medicine." She sounded a bit small as Lestrade swept her up and carried her up the rest of the stairs.

As Lestrade put her on the bed he happened to notice a scar that wrapped from just around her hip to up part of her back. Running his finger along it, causing her to flinch a bit, he asked where she got it from.

"Uh, nobody…' she rubbed her nose with a curled hand, 'it was just one of the foster dads; liked to play rough, I guess. Doesn't matter."

"Yes it does."

As she turned her back to Lestrade, Layla mumbled, 'never has before." With that she at least pretended to fall asleep, effectively ending any further conversation on the matter.

With the subject dropped for the moment, Lestrade began looking around the room; Layla had told him he should see her room. Walking over to the vanity, he spotted some photographs that were scattered on top. There were several of them that had Layla in them with another lovely dark haired young woman; that must have been Flavia. She was a beauty, as Layla had said she was; Lestrade still preferred Layla though. There were some pictures that had Layla and Flavia in them with a rather handsome young man; must have been Flavia's boyfriend. He even found a couple copies of pregnancy scans; Layla said that Flavia had been expecting a baby, looks like she gave Layla copies of some of the scans to keep…perhaps she was going to be the godmother or something.

Looking back over at the bed where Layla was supposed to be sleeping, he noticed that she was in fact watching him.

"Told ya the room was huge. I'll bet you could fit the entire flat that I was living in when I first moved to London in this room."

"You just wanted to get away from Sherlock?"

"Am I that transparent?"

"He does that to people. You're not the first."

"Mycroft said that Sherlock would likely want to have access to the books that are currently stored at 221B Baker St. I thought I would have a key made for him so he wouldn't have to worry about breaking in."

"In truth, Sherlock would rather break in. It would help him hone his lock-picking skills and keep him sharp. However, considering your circumstances, having someone breaking into your home would be out of the question."

"Indeed." She sat up, sliding down out of the bed watching Lestrade.

"You recover quickly."

"Well, I was a little woozy, just not as much as I would have the others believe. But, yeah, Sherlock was trying my patience. I thought it bad form to do him harm, considering that his brother is my benefactor. You have something you want to ask me."

"Are you sure you're not related to the Holmes brothers? It's eerie the way that you can do that sometimes."

"At this point anything is possible. Since I don't know anything about where my family came from...Ask your question."

"Would you like to go out sometime? It doesn't have to be anything serious if you don't want. It's just that I have thought of little else since I met you that day on the plane."

"Are you sure you really want to be seen with me? I mean, just earlier tonight someone tried to take me out. It could be dangerous."

Holding his hand out for her to take it and then shaking her hand, 'Hello. Det. Inspector Greg Lestrade. I often allow Sherlock Holmes to consult on cases."

"And?"

"And, just standing next to him is dangerous most days."

"You make a valid point with that."

"Besides, if Mycroft was to know that we wanted to go anywhere, he would just send a few of his shadows with us." He watched as Layla began scanning the floor for anything else that might seem interesting.

"True. Let me think about it, yeah." She walked over to the huge bank of windows on one wall, 'That's a hell of a view. Living at the top must be pretty nice."

Coming up beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, 'I wouldn't know. It is a brilliant view though."

"Yeah. Not too shabby. How pissed do you think Mycroft would be if I decided to never leave?"

"You wouldn't abandon Baker Street would you?"

"Hmmm. No, not really. I love it there I think. The books…the journals I mean…and just the house itself. It's one of those places that you almost wish walls could talk….sometimes I think if you're quiet enough, and listen carefully, they do."

"What have they told you so far?"

"Not much, yet. Although, I would swear on a stack of bibles that I heard the word 'Irrelevant!' being yelled out the other night. But I can't be sure, I was half asleep, and sometimes my imagination can run away from me. It could have been just wishful thinking I guess."

Lestrade chuckled as they gazed out of the window a bit more at the park in front of them. Mycroft's home was one of those upscale places that looked out over St. James Park. The view of the park from her window seemed to please Layla. He watched her looking around, taking in the bit of London that she could see from the window.

"Greg,' Layla ducked from under his arm, and began to push him back away from the window. "Get away from the window, get down. Now!" using what strength she might have she was able to shove Lestrade off balance enough to knock him over. That's when a shot rang out shattering the window. Lestrade grabbed Layla and rolled to the side out of view of the window.

Downstairs, Sherlock and John had heard the noise and came running up the stairs.

"Is everyone alright?" John asked quickly.

"In one piece Dr." Lestrade replied quickly, still trying to get his breath.

"There was a shooter on the roof of the building to the right, roughly fifty degrees to the right."

John, staying a bit to the side of the window sill, looked out and up, 'Got him."

Levelling his Sig to just the right angle, he began to take aim.

"John, that's a long shot, even for you." Sherlock could be heard to say as he helped Lestrade get Layla well back out of range.

"Cabbie," Was all John said as he took his shot. "Damn, I'm good."

"What is it John?"

"Man down."

Lestrade got on his phone and called Donovan.

"I need you to get over here. Mycroft's neighborhood, the building a few doors down. Bring a few extra men with you. We will need a medical examiner on the roof of that building."

About that time, there was a knock at the door; Higgins could be heard greeting Mary.

"Oh God that was close,' John mumbled as he raced down the stairs.


End file.
